**Not Meant to Be**
*”You’re not going to be late, are you? What time are you leaving, Tom?! Tom…”* Emily tugged at her husband’s shoulder, but he brushed her off, making it clear he had no intention of waking up just yet and wasn’t worried about being late.
Emily checked her phone—only seven in the morning.
*Why did I get up so early on a Saturday? Nothing to do, packed his bag yesterday…* She almost crawled back under the cosy duvet, but then—
Then that strange, creeping sense of unease returned. Lately, it had been coming more and more often. Logically, there was nothing to worry about: her husband was here, they had a flat in the city centre, a modern renovation, designer furniture, top-of-the-range appliances. Tom had his own car, Emily had hers. They’d even bought a cottage in the countryside recently. Everything was perfect, really.
Plenty of people would kill for this life. Try living in a rented flat, commuting by bus, juggling work, kids’ homework, dinner for the family, paying off loans, school fees… By the time you collapse into bed, the alarm’s already ringing, and it all starts again. *I should be so lucky!* What was there to worry about?
And yet—that feeling. Emily had learned to recognise it by now. A sudden, inexplicable dread, a sinking loneliness, the sense that something important was slipping away. It came without warning and left just as abruptly. Sometimes it faded for a while, only to come creeping back.
This morning, the uneasy feeling settled in again, uninvited. Emily got up, glanced at her sleeping husband, and went to the kitchen. Tom was leaving for yet another business trip. Lately, they’d become so frequent! A new boss had taken over the company about a year and a half ago—decent pay rise, big prospects. Tom was one of the top employees, head of his department. But the job took up so much time! And now they’d started sending him away over weekends too.
Emily made breakfast and returned to the bedroom to wake Tom.
*”Tom, are you getting up or not? Come on, you’ll miss your flight. Didn’t you say you were leaving this afternoon?”*
*”Yeah. After…”* Tom mumbled, finally sitting up.
*”Come on, breakfast’s ready.”*
*”Mhm.”* Still half-asleep, he followed her to the kitchen.
At the table, he immediately buried himself in his phone. Lately, they’d barely spoken at all, growing more distant by the day. Not that they argued. Everything was fine—he still brought her flowers sometimes, occasionally agreed to dinner out when she suggested it. They took walks in the park, visited friends, went to the cinema. But it wasn’t the same anymore.
*”Tom… take me with you? On this trip?”* Emily asked suddenly.
*”Mhm.”* Tom didn’t look up from his phone.
*”Seriously, why not? You’ll be staying in a hotel, right? You’ll be with the team during the day, but evenings—we could spend together.”*
*”What?! No! What do you mean, together?”* He finally looked up, processing her words.
*”Why not? You’re driving, aren’t you?”*
*”Yeah, but what would you even do there? It’s the weekend—relax at home. I’ll be back Monday or Tuesday.”*
*”Explore the city? Maybe do some shopping, visit museums…”*
*”Oh, come on! It’s just some dull little town. What’s there we don’t have in London? Shops on every corner—help yourself!”*
*”Tom, I’m bored here! I won’t get in your way at all,”* Emily pleaded.
*”Em, no! If you want a break, book yourself a spa weekend!”* he snapped.
*”Alone? I want to go with you. Or have you forgotten we’re married?”*
*”Here we go again! I’ve told you a hundred times—work’s mad right now! The boss is breathing down my neck! You think I choose to work weekends?!”*
*”Funny, because last Saturday I saw Robert from your team out with his wife and kids at the mall. But you just had to work!”* She hadn’t meant to argue, especially before his trip, but she couldn’t stop herself.
*”Oh, brilliant. Now we’re keeping tabs. Thanks for breakfast.”* Tom stood and stalked off to the bathroom.
Emily tidied up while he watched TV. Then she packed sandwiches and tea in a flask for the road.
*”Em, where’s my bag?”* Tom called from the hall.
*”On the dresser,”* she replied calmly.
*”Right. I’m off. Don’t be upset—really, there’s nothing to do there.”*
*”Fine. Wasn’t planning on it. Bye.”*
Tom drove off. Emily lingered. Saturday—she could call a friend, meet up, chat over dinner somewhere cosy.
But who? Julia was married with two kids—no chance. Marie and her husband had just bought a cottage and never left on weekends. Sophie had moved to Manchester ages ago—radio silence since. Everyone had their own lives, responsibilities, children…
Emily was nearly thirty-eight, and she and Tom had no kids. One youthful mistake—a botched abortion. Back then, they’d just moved in together, scraping by in a rented flat. Fresh out of uni, their salaries barely covered rent.
She’d gotten pregnant, told Tom. He’d said not yet. Emily had been against it but didn’t argue—they were barely keeping their heads above water. What kind of life could they have given a child? If it happened now, it’d be different. She wouldn’t feel so lonely. There’d be meaning. Maybe things with Tom wouldn’t have fallen apart.
Their child would’ve been fourteen by now.
*”Wonder what they’d have been like?”* Emily murmured aloud, then burst into tears. She went to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, stared at her reflection.
*”No. This has to stop. I’m calling Vicky.”* She forced a smile at the mirror.
Back in the kitchen, she found her phone and dialled.
*”Vicks, hi!”* Emily chirped.
*”Oh, Em… hey,”* came the sluggish reply.
*”Fancy meeting up? Café or shopping?”*
*”Oh… I can’t. Came down with something.”*
*”Oh. Flu?”*
*”Yeah, something like that…”*
Emily went shopping alone. The trip felt hollow. Then an idea struck her—visit sick Vicky. No husband, parents in another city.
She stopped at a bakery, a grocery, the chemist. Bought everything necessary, called a cab, and headed to Vicky’s.
*”She’ll be thrilled! Might even cheer her up. Maybe I’ll stay over!”*
The door swung open before she could knock. Tom stood in the doorway, frozen.
*”Tom… what are you doing here?”* Emily’s voice cracked.
Silence.
*”Tom? Who is it, the delivery?”* Vicky’s voice floated from inside before she appeared in the hallway.
Now all three stood in stunned silence.
*”Yep. Delivery. Get well soon!”* Emily thrust the bags at Tom and turned away.
Downstairs, she called another cab. Moments later, Tom followed.
*”Let’s go home. We need to talk.”* He marched toward his car.
*”Why? What’s left to say? Go back upstairs—she’s waiting. That boss of yours must be so demanding! How long has this ‘business trip’ been going on?”*
A cab pulled up.
*”I don’t ever want to see you in our flat again.”*
Emily left. Tom stayed.
*”Drop me by the river, please.”*
The driver obliged. Emily walked along the embankment, the evening air crisp.
*This was it. The feeling she’d ignored for too long.* She’d known something was wrong. Just refused to face it.
Tears dried, she stared ahead, lost in thought.
*”Oh—sorry!”* A man bumped into her.
*”Leo?!”*
*”Emily? Can’t believe it’s you!”*
Standing before her was Leo, her childhood friend. They’d known each other since nursery, been in the same class. Then he’d joined the army. They’d even exchanged letters. But after she started dating Tom, Leo stayed where he was stationed. Last she’d heard, he’d married. Then—nothing.
*”Em, how long’s it been?”*
*”Ages! Is this your daughter?”* She looked at the girl, about nine.
*”Yeah—Katie. What do you say, love?”*
*”Hello,”* the girl mumbled.
*”Hi. I’mThey sat together in a cosy riverside café, the warmth of old friendship easing the ache in Emily’s heart as the evening sun dipped below the skyline.
